Seeing red

Her focus wasn't on the question he had offered, or even their argument itself. It was on the items he had left in disarray around the room. Her distress was clear as she spoke of what she had left behind. That each item was a thought, a moment in her life. The last of his anger fled him as confusion took its place. He seated himself a little more firmly on the ground beneath him. His burnt paw throbbed, but he pushed the minor discomfort aside. His brows furrowed as he looked at Ignita. “This is just… stuff.” As she had struggled to put it into words, so did he. “Things can be replaced, people can't. There will always be importance in items. Survival, and comfort.” Ah, but he wasn't a sentimental wolf. He had never owned an item he loved enough to cry over. Never owned an item his father wouldn't have confiscated for training if he had shown enough interest in it. 


He stepped closer to her, though he did not know if his presence would be welcomed. “Things don't matter to me, but if this is to work I need to understand what matters to you. I will take more care and consideration with your things.” He promised her. A careful promise, one that did not promise not to pry. He was not a trusting wolf, the Warlord.